


Alles schläft; einsam wacht

by PrinceDrew



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Artistic Liberties, Badly butchered German, Bittersweet Ending, But it's still World War One, Christmas Truce of 1914, Christmas fic, Football | Soccer, Gen, Male Hange Zoë, Nothing bad don't worry, So many artistic liberties, implications of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:11:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceDrew/pseuds/PrinceDrew
Summary: Friday, the 25th of December, 1914. Christmas Day.“You want to do what?”“Play football. In the space between the trenches.”"Eren. Do you really want to risk getting shot for a game of football?”“Yes.”Based off the Christmas Truce of 1914, a somewhat light fic about a game of football in the time of war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know very little about the day-to-day lives of soldiers in the first world war, so please forgive any errors on my part. Enjoy~

It was all quiet in Eren’s trench as he kept watch in the night. Mud long since frozen into dirt surrounded him on all sides, held back by a fence made from branches that Eren hoped would hold back mud when it warmed up again. He shivered, breath visible in small white puffs, and he pulled his coat - his itchy, borderline lice-infested coat - tighter around his body.

Christmas Eve, he thought quietly to himself, casting his gaze upwards to the sky, where snow fell like stars from the sky. Not much merriment to be found tonight, though faintly, he could hear Hange’s voice - bold as brass, unsubtle as bright red - singing Christmas tunes to the rest of their small brigade. No cheers though, no sounds of clinking glasses of extra ale. Hange was doing his best though, as encouragements for Armin or Bert or Reiner to join in fell on Eren’s ears.

He wondered about his mother then, and how she was doing back home. He had wrote to her, of course, a letter flooded with love and sentiments and ‘sorry for not being able to leave’, and saying that no, he still didn’t regret joining the army. His country needed him, as countless posters had told him. Just maybe he wouldn’t have dragged Armin along this time.

She wouldn’t get it until after Christmas, he realised with a blink, and he sighed, shifting his weight from side to side. The other trench was as quiet as his.

That was what a lot of what he found this war to be so far. A lot of waiting, a lot of quiet. Horror stories had indeed tumbled down the trenches to his own, but they seemed distant, far flung from his small world. Yes, they had a few skirmishes, but no major battles that would be named, no one dying just yet.

They were lucky, Hange would tell them, having been in the army for fourteen years already, yet still hadn’t advanced in rank much. Trenches are a dream compared to open bloodshed. And wars always start quiet. Over by Christmas my arse.

Eren’s ears twitched, and he turned his head towards the new source of sound. Singing - loud and clear - coming from the enemy trench. Christmas carols, he realised through his poor translation ability, and a smile twitched at his face. He would sing too, if he didn’t sound like a frog had lodged itself in his throat when he did. And then, from behind him, Hange’s voice, followed swiftly by Reiner’s, floated upwards. The songs meshed together, the languages clashing, and Eren’s wasn’t even sure if they were singing the same song at first. He hummed to himself, tucking his smile into his scarf.

“All is calm - all is bright…” he murmured, eyes still on the sky. “Sleep in heavenly peace… sleep in heavenly peace.”

An idea, small and tucked away, took form in his mind, and his smile grew wider at the thought of it. For now, though, he would stand watch, listening to the two songs and watching the snow fall.

\----------------------

 

“You want to do what?” Armin asked Eren the next morning. They were in the dugout that served as their sleeping quarters, Armin still blinking sleep out of his eyes from when Eren has roused him awake.

“Play football. In the space between the trenches.” Eren grinned. “Come on, it’s Christmas! We’re all sitting here, half depressed -”

“Fully depressed,” Bert chimed in from where he lay in the corner.

“ - when we could be out there, having some fun!” He was waving his arms about again, he knew it. It was something he always had trouble with, had tried to curb it when he was younger, but then he met Hange, and gave up hope on ever controlling it. Armin stared flatly at Eren, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was from annoyance at being woken up, or if it was the ‘Eren you are an idiot’ stare Armin had picked up from Mikasa.

“Eren, we’re at war,” Armin sighed. “And you want us to get up into a place where the enemy can easily shoot us, all for a game of football?”

“It won’t be that bad.” Eren shrugged. “The guys down the line said they used to do it all the time. The other guys even joined in, apparently.”

“The guys down the line also said they had rats the size of dogs down here.” Armin rubbed at his forehead, frowning. “Do you really want to risk getting shot for a game of football?”

“Yes.”

Armin stared at Eren for a moment, before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Go and get shot for all I care. I’ll be sure to put you down as a joke next time they ask for suggestions for that magazine.”

“Oh, leave him alone, Armin, it can’t hurt anyone.” Reiner approached from behind, slinging his arm around Eren’s shoulders. “I say we should go over the top and play.”

“Yes it can. It can hurt lots of people. It can kill people.”

“You’re worrying too much,” Reiner assured him. “It’s Christmas!”

“And Christmas, despite what you believe, does not grant immortality.” If the guns didn’t kill them, Armin probably would, Eren thought.

“Well, it looks like it’s just me and you having a kickabout then,” Reiner said, grinning as he rubbed Eren’s shoulder. “I’ll go grab the ball - I’ll be waiting by the ladder for you, all right?”

“I’ll come with!” Hange, who Eren hadn’t even been aware of, chirped, throwing away his blankets. “If I’m gonna get shot, then I might as well get shot having fun! Bert, are you coming?”

“I’m not dying over a game of football.”

“Your loss.” Hange shrugged, before following Reiner out of the dugout bedroom. Eren turned to follow them, but was stopped by Armin tugging at his coat.

“Wait,” he sighed, standing. “I’m coming with.”

Eren blinked. “Really?”

Armin nodded, though he still looked distinctly unhappy. “If you’re gonna go up and get yourself killed, I might as well try to save you.”

Guilt, heavier than anything, settled for a moment in Eren’s stomach, but he pushed it away with a bright, toothy grin at Armin as he grabbed his hand.

“Great!” he cheered. “Let’s go play - you can be goalkeeper, yeah?”

Armin sighed again, but there was a small smile on his face as he shook his head. He followed to where Hange and Reiner were shivering besides the ladder. Snow had coated the battlefield like thick icing on a cake, and the small brown football was tucked under Reiner’s arm. For a moment, Eren wondered if they could even play football with the snow as thick as it was, but he ignored it in favour of grinning wider and heading up the ladder.

It was more barren than he remembered it being. They were lucky, all things considered, because they had relatively little fighting up where they were. Sure, there was a lost arm or leg here and there, but no corpses. Barbed wire lined both his and the enemy’s trenches like shrubbery, and Eren stopped to help Armin clamber up onto the land.

“What now?” Armin asked as Reiner appeared, followed by Hange.

Eren considered this for a moment, before taking off his helmet and sticking it on the ground, followed by his coat.

“Goal,” he said, before grabbing the ball and putting it down. “Me and you against Hange and Reiner.” And without warning, he booted it halfway across the field and charged after it, Reiner and Hange swiftly giving chase.

Eren always had an affinity for football. Not just kicking the ball, but dribbling it, passing it, shooting with it - they were little more than second nature to him. He laughed breathlessly as he stole the ball from Reiner, kicking it halfway across the field towards Armin. They were even talks of getting him onto a professional team before the war broke out and he decided to leave. Maybe when it ended. Maybe.

Hange had managed to steal the ball from Armin, whose cheeks were red from effort and cold. Eren dashed to reach him, kicking up snow as he did. He dived for the ball, but he hit the frozen ground with a thud, and the ball sailed over him, into the goal. He was always more a striker, he told himself, dusting snow off his uniform as Hange whooped.

“Maybe we need two goals,” Armin said, grabbing Eren’s arm to help him up.

“Nah,” Eren said, shaking his head to get rid of any snow. “We’ll catch up easily. Just you see.”

And they did, even getting ahead by a point, until Reiner scored another goal. The two team struggled for dominance against each, alternating between being one point ahead and neck-and-neck, until, after about six goals each, they called for a break. At some point, Bert had crawled out of the trench to watch them, shaking his head and muttering about how they were going to get shot, if not by the enemy then by the commanding officers. Eren and Armin sat, backs pressed together, Eren’s head craned to look at the sky. Sunlight shone weakly through a sea of light grey snow clouds, some still heavy and swollen.

“Eren,” Armin muttered, nudging his shoulder. “Look.”

Eren turned to where Armin was looking, and froze. Soldiers, two of them, were climbing out of the enemy trench and making their way over to where Eren was resting. One was much taller than the other, lean and with a thin but long face - the shorter was still thin, but the thinness that came with trench living and not naturally. Neither carried rifles, but Eren still inched his hand over to Armin’s to grasp it. The two enemy soldiers stopped in front of them, the shorter one grinning.

“Hello,” he said, and Eren gripped Armin’s hand that little tighter. “We were just watching watching you lot have a kickabout and we thought that we could join in?”

“Uh…” Eren never had the best grasp on foreign languages and he stared blankly at the pair before him. After a moment, the shorter one slapped his hand against his forehead and groaned.

“Right, right! Introductions! Completely forgot them. I’m Connie - short for Connor before you ask - and this here -” he thumped his fist against the other soldier’s chest - “is Jean! Company mascot, ain’t he?”

“Fuck off,” Jean spat, before turning away and pulling out a cigarette to light it. Stubble lined his jawline, and there was a deep, hollow look to his eyes that Eren recognised Hange as sometimes having.

“Oi, you bastard, be nice.” Connie scowled at Jean before turning back to Armin and Eren. “Sorry ‘bout him, you know what his type are like -”

“Don’t stereotype me -”

“- so can we join in?”

“Um, sure,” Eren said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah - we only have one goal -”

“We’ll use our helmets, don’t worry,” Connie said. “We’ll just wait for Mr. Grumpy-Arse here to finish up his fag. He’s better at football than you think he’d be. Played for a local team, if you believe all of his shit.”

“‘S not shit,” Jean huffed. “Could have been professional if I wanted be.”

“Eren would have been too,” Armin said, going to stand. “Oh - Armin. And over there is Reiner, Bertholdt, and Hange.”

Jean eyed Eren for a moment before snorting. “That kid? Professional? No chance - none.”

Red flashed, and the next thing he knew, Eren was shoving himself into Jean’s face, his fists clenched at his sides.

“You’ll see,” he snarled to Jean’s impassive face. “I bet you I’ll score more goals than you.”

“Yeah?” Jean replied. “We’ll see, kid, we’ll see.”

“I’m not a kid.” Eren hissed.

Jean didn’t reply, merely eying Eren as he stepped away to take another drag of his cigarette. By this time, Reiner and Bert had struck up conversation with some other soldiers from Connie’s trench, swapping rationed cigarettes with them, and Hange was examining some plant they didn’t have back home.

It only took two minutes for Jean to finish smoking, in which Eren, Armin and Connie had been chatting amicably, Armin teaching Connie little snatches of French that he asked for - simple stuff, like greetings and ‘Merry Christmas’ and small phrases. Even if he stumbled, he still grinned manically every time he perfected a new phrase.

“Okay.” Jean sighed, flicking away his cigarette stub. “Let’s do this.”

Eren did nothing but grin as Armin called Hange to referee the match.

Connie and Jean’s helmets served as their goalpost, Connie standing in front of it, as was Armin for his and Eren’s. The ball was placed in between Eren and Jean, and they stared each down. Eren held out his hand.

“May the best trench win,” he said simply. Jean stared at him. His eyes - they may have been bright once, Eren thought, but they were dull and tired now. Maybe he just didn’t have a good rest last night.

“Don’t say it like we’re friends,” he muttered, but he still shook Eren’s hand.

Jean was good. A little better than Eren, if he ever could admit it, but he wouldn’t. Only because Jean was older, he told himself, scoring his first goal against Jean’s two. No other reason at all, he thought as Jean stole the ball from him again. By half time - or what Hange declared to be half time - he had a score of four goals compared to Eren’s two.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be goalkeeper,” Armin offered, but Eren shook his head.

“I’ll beat him,” he promised. “Or at least give him a good bruise.”

The fact that in the second half he managed to boot the ball directly into Jean’s forehead was a coincidence. When they eventually drew, both immediately demanded a rematch, which turned into best two out of three, which eventually turned into non-stop football as both members from the trenches returned home, and the sun was just barely able to paint the sky with light streaks of gold and orange. Connie approached Eren, who was bent over, trying to regain his breath, and slapped him on the back.

“Good game, ey?” he said cheerfully. “Sorry ‘bout Jean - gets a bit competitive, like, but you did well.”

“Yeah,” he panted out, before swallowing, and straightening up. “Good game.”

He remembered something them, and searched his uniform until he found the box he was looking for, and fished it out, holding it out to Connie.

“Here,” he said. “I uh - I don’t smoke, so - a present. Christmas present for you.”

“Oh!” Connie grinned, taking the box from Eren’s hands. “Thanks - wait, here.” He plucked a small packet from his pocket, jarring another piece of paper that lay in there so it peeked out just slightly. “Have this chocolate - tastes a bit like shit, mind, but it’s the only thing I can give you.”

“Thank you.” Eren smiled, and then pointed to the photograph just slightly pointing out of Connie’s uniform pocket. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Huh - Oh!” Connie plucked the photograph out of his pocket. “This?”

Eren nodded, and Connie smiled. He turned the photo towards Eren, and there was Connie, grinning like a madman next to a beautiful girl with matching mania, in a long white dress with a long white veil.

“Sweetheart?” he asked.

“Yeah, she’s my wife,” Connie said, affection colouring his tone. “Sasha - what a name, ey? We were going steady when I uh, y’know. And her name - well, it was all foreign like, and with the tensions and all, we thought we best get married before anyone gave her any shit for it. So she’s Sasha Springer now. And our little one’s come along - called him Alexander, but he goes by Alex. She’s expecting again now, hoping for a little girl. Wants to call her Bridget - Bridget! Alex and Bridget. I suppose if we have another kid, we’ll have to call it Charlie, ey?”

“She’s - very pretty,” Eren managed, because it all flew over his head like a shell. “You must - be happy, yeah?”

“There’s no point to life if you’re not happy,” Connie replied lightly, tucking the photo back into his pocket. “I know I’m not the brightest in the world - got caned enough in school to know that - but I’m one of the happiest.”

“Eren!” The pair of them turned to face Armin, who was standing by the ladder that led back down into the trench. “We have to go!”

“Okay!” he called back, before turning to Connie, grinning sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry - das tut mir leid - but officers, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Connie grinned back. “You should meet ours - one’s basically a rich blond hunk and the other -”

“ _Eren!_ ”

They both jumped this time, and Eren’s face fell. He looked down at the ground, and kicked at the snow.

“Hey.” He looked back up to see Connie grinning at him. “I had a fucking great time today, yeah? I’m sure you did as well. So it’s not goodbye. It’s an ‘I’ll see you later’, yeah?”

Eren stilled for a moment, before he smiled, grin reaching from ear to ear.

“Ja!” he cheered. “I’ll be seeing you!” Eren laughed, breathlessly, and took off across No Man’s Land, football tucked under his arm. He paused for a moment, at the edge of his trench, before turning back around to face his new friends and waved. “Fröhliche Weihnachten! Und ein gutes neues Jahr!”

“You too!” Connie called, and he waved back at Eren until the boy’s spiked helmet disappeared below the ground. Then he stood, and sighed, placing his hands behind his head. Snow fell down again as Jean approached, and stood next to him, taking it upon himself to light another cigarette in silence.

“They ain’t so bad, are they?” Connie asked. “The Huns, I mean.”

“‘Course they’re not.” Jean snorted. “They’re still _human_ , Con. And that Eren kid - God, I’d bet you anything he’s underaged. That blond friend of his as well. Can’t be no more than sixteen.”

“I can’t believe we have to go back to fighting ‘em tomorrow,” Connie murmured, and for once, Jean didn’t reply. He simply took one long drag from his cigarette, and looked towards the sky.

“Merry Christmas, Con.”

“Joyeux Noël, Jean.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes before we leave:  
> \- The title is taken from the original German version of Silent Night, and is (I think) the equivalent of 'All is calm; all is bright'.  
> \- The very bad german in this fics translates (roughly) to 'sorry', 'Happy Christmas' and 'And a happy new year'. If you can help me fix it at all, please do.  
> \- The fact the Germans ended up being the Titan Shifters + Hange - Annie is a coincidence. I didn't even realise until I sat down to write it  
> \- Eren, and by extent Armin, is indeed underaged for Army service, as they're both sixteen.  
> \- If you want to see the main inspiration for this fic, click  here  
> \- I hope you have a happy Christmas/holidays/whatever you celebrate, and if it isn't, I hope it gets better soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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